In the bustling corridors of Asia’s airports and the boardrooms of multinational food conglomerates, safety scandals have recently rocked two of the region’s economic giants—Vietnam and China. Both incidents, though worlds apart in industry and geography, highlight a growing tension between rapid expansion, regulatory oversight, and the unyielding demand for consumer trust.
Thailand’s Charoen Pokphand Foods Public Company Limited (CPF), a titan in the food industry, found itself in troubled waters during the first half of 2025. According to its latest earnings report, CPF’s Vietnam operations recorded revenues of THB53.8 billion ($1.66 billion), marking a significant 15% drop year-on-year. The farming business, which includes animal breeding, live animals, and processed meat and eggs, bore the brunt of this decline, generating THB36.4 billion ($1.12 billion)—a 19% decrease and accounting for 68% of the company’s Vietnamese revenue. The animal feed segment followed suit, falling 15% to THB13.1 billion ($404 million), while the food segment offered a rare bright spot with a modest 1% growth, reaching THB4.2 billion ($131 million).
Things looked particularly grim in the second quarter of 2025, when CPF’s Vietnam revenue plunged 21% year-on-year to THB26.2 billion ($807.2 million). This performance stood in stark contrast to the company’s other major markets, such as Thailand and China, which managed to post growth during the same period. Overall, CPF’s global revenue dipped only 1% to THB291.8 billion ($8.99 billion), underscoring the disproportionate impact of Vietnam’s woes.
Curiously, CPF did not specify the reasons behind its underperformance in Vietnam, despite the country being its second-largest market after Thailand. However, a closer look at recent events offers some clues. In April, CPF became the full owner of C.P. Vietnam after acquiring Itochu’s minority stake, a move that should have consolidated its market position. But just two months later, C.P. Vietnam was thrust into a food safety scandal that would dominate headlines and shake consumer confidence.
The scandal erupted in June, when a social media account operated by Lieu Quy Ngan—who claimed to be a former employee of the CP Fresh Shop in Soc Trang province—accused company leadership of ordering the sale of diseased pork and chicken. The allegations spread rapidly online, prompting swift denials from C.P. Vietnam, which insisted that its products complied with strict quality control procedures. According to The Investor, “C.P. Vietnam denied the allegations and asserted that its products complied with strict quality control procedures.”
Authorities wasted no time launching inspections. While they found no evidence of diseased meat in C.P. Vietnam’s stores, their investigations did uncover violations at three outlets: expired safety certificates and a lack of proper documentation. The fallout was immediate, with public trust taking a hit. Yet, in early July, the Soc Trang Police’s investigative agency announced it would not pursue legal proceedings against C.P. Vietnam. As reported, the agency stated that “the behavior does not show signs of a crime of violating food safety regulations as prescribed in Clause 2, Article 157 of the Criminal Code.”
CPF’s presence in Vietnam is no small matter. Since its initial investment in 1993, the company has expanded to 21 factories across the country, including eight animal feed plants, four fisheries feed plants, two fisheries processing plants, and seven meat processing plants. This deep-rooted footprint underscores why the recent scandal—and the subsequent revenue drop—has reverberated so strongly through both the company and the broader Vietnamese market.
Meanwhile, a very different kind of safety crisis has been quietly brewing in China’s travel hubs. The humble power bank—an essential accessory for today’s digitally connected traveler—has become the unlikely center of a regulatory storm. On June 28, 2025, the Civil Aviation Administration of China (CAAC) tightened rules banning portable chargers from domestic flights unless they bore a clear 3C safety mark, had readable labels, and were not from recalled batches. The move aimed to prevent dangerous mid-air incidents, as poorly made chargers can ignite without warning.
Yet, as reported by China Central Television (CCTV) and corroborated by local journalists, the regulation has had unintended consequences. Airports across China now routinely intercept dozens of non-certified power banks each day. In theory, these devices should be destroyed or sent to regulated recycling streams. In practice, however, many end up languishing in airport storage rooms, handed over to “recycling” companies, or left for travelers to reclaim. What happens next has alarmed consumer advocates: an underground network of second-hand merchants buys these confiscated power banks, refurbishes them, and resells them at a steep profit on platforms like Xianyu, Zhuanzhuan, and Pinduoduo, as well as at street stalls in small towns. Some even flaunt the airport’s name on the packaging as a badge of authenticity.
The economics are simple but troubling. A ton of these devices can be acquired from airport channels for about 9,000 yuan—around two to three yuan per unit. After minimal refurbishment, they are resold for 20 to 30 yuan each, attracting mostly young buyers, especially students during the back-to-school rush. The risks, however, are anything but minimal. “Most intercepted chargers lack the mandatory 3C certification, contain aging lithium cells, missing circuit protection, or faulty wiring,” according to the CCTV report. At least fifteen fire incidents in 2025 have been traced to these subpar power banks, with fires breaking out in backpacks, dormitories, and even on public transport.
Regulatory gaps and lax enforcement are at the heart of the problem. The fact that confiscated items are not consistently destroyed hints at either procedural negligence or informal collusion between airport staff and recycling firms eager to cash in. Second-hand e-commerce platforms have also been slow to crack down on the sale of hazardous goods. Legal experts in China have noted that current statutes on unsafe electronic devices and illegal resale lack sufficient teeth, calling for stricter penalties for both facilitators and sellers.
The public has not been silent. The CCTV exposé ignited a firestorm on Chinese social media, with users demanding transparent disposal procedures and tighter oversight of airport waste streams. Consumer-rights groups are urging authorities to audit the disposal contracts of airports and ensure that reclaimed electronics are genuinely destroyed or sent to certified recyclers. While some local officials have pledged to tighten checks, no concrete policy changes have emerged as of August 17, 2025.
Both cases—one involving food, the other electronics—underscore a broader dilemma facing fast-growing Asian economies: how to balance the relentless drive for growth and efficiency with the imperatives of safety and consumer protection. As the scandals in Vietnam and China make clear, regulatory frameworks must keep pace with market realities, or risk being outflanked by profit-driven opportunists. For now, the lessons are sobering, serving as a reminder that in the race for progress, vigilance and transparency are as essential as innovation itself.